Chapter 7
He’d been testing the waters for days. At first, it was subtle—a missed order here, a sharp comment there. Steve noticed but said nothing. Steve didn’t reprimand him, didn’t even ask why.
Any other handler would have punished him. Karpov might have executed him on the spot or sent him to the gulag. Pierce wouldn’t decommission him outright, but would at least cut his tongue instead. But Steve? Steve did nothing. He didn’t even raise his voice.
After his outburst a few days ago, Steve became hesitant around him, almost fidgety. He never touched Bucky now, not even the occasional steadying hand. He spoke as though Bucky might shatter at the slightest touch.
At first, he was surprised. Then, slowly, the realization crept in. Steve wasn’t insidious. He wasn’t plotting anything. This wasn’t leniency, either—not like Pierce. No. The truth seemed obvious now. Steve was weak. Incompetent at best, useless at worst.
Once he understood, he began to push.
He outright refused Steve’s requests, testing how far he could push Steve before he reacted. He stopped trailing after Steve like a shadow and instead stayed in his room. When Steve came looking with tentative knocks against the wood, he would leave Steve standing in the hallway. When Steve asked him to join for dinner, Bucky would grab his food and retreat to his room. He threw Steve’s clothes on the floor in front of him—those clothes Steve had given him when he first moved in. He didn’t need Steve’s scent suffocating him anymore.
And still, Steve did nothing.
It wasn’t rebellion—not entirely. It was a test; one he didn’t expect Steve to fail so spectacularly. No reprimands, no anger, not even a question.
So, he took it further.
He noticed how Steve struggled to respond whenever Hydra came up, so he tried to deliberately mention his past to make Steve uncomfortable whenever Steve tried to talk to him. Someone beating him until he had a concussion. Someone starving him for weeks. Someone touching him without permission. He didn’t know why the last one made Steve react so much. Steve would stammer, which gives him the upper hand.
I’ll do better next time. Please don’t hurt me. I don’t have permission. Please don’t turn off the lights. I’ll be good. Please.
The effect was even better when he mentioned a Hydra agent Steve had worked with. Watching the realization in Steve’s eyes—it was almost entertaining. Steve was too soft. This was almost fun.
I... I didn’t mean to bring that up—
And then Steve apologized a lot. Steve apologized for everything. It was a sign of weakness. He should have known that.
I’m trying, Buck. I’m trying to understand what you need.
Pierce had said something similar once. He said it was his own fault for letting the Asset misinterpret what kind of person he was. But unlike Steve, Pierce hadn’t been weak. He had cried then, begged for leniency. Pierce said it was manipulation. Pierce said he weaponized his tears to demand special treatment. There had been no uncertainty. Pierce didn’t ask—he acted. Sometimes he found himself missing Pierce.
Steve never understood that. It didn’t matter if his stories didn’t quite add up or if his voice carried just the right hint of trembling. Steve would still believe him. He was all too willing to use that to his advantage.
Steve is so easy to control. One sad story, and he folds.
This was until Steve asked him to see a therapist.
No, Bucky.
He didn’t flinch at much anymore, but Steve’s harsh tone still managed to make him pull back slightly.
No, Bucky, This is not negotiable.
Steve said again, his voice firm.
He doesn’t need help.
Bucky, I can’t keep you here forever. If you don’t want me here, you have to see someone.
He didn’t respond.
Tony helped find the best therapist in New York.
The mention of Tony’s name made his jaw tighten, and Steve must have noticed.
I’ll even come with you. If that makes it easier.
Tony Stark.
He could work with that.
Tony fixed your metal arm
Steve added, his tone encouraging.
I can help you pick it up. If you want me to.
"I’ll go."
Steve paused, surprised by the sudden compliance, but he didn’t question it.
He never thought Bucky hated him this much.
He blamed himself. Bucky never opened up emotionally, never told him what he needed, and he didn’t know how to help someone who wouldn’t let him in.
He began second-guessing himself constantly. Was he too firm? Not firm enough? Should he set boundaries, or would that only push Bucky further away? He was overwhelmed with guilt now. Bucky wouldn’t even sit in the same room as him.
Bucky had to see the therapist. He at least had made that decision. After that…if Bucky still wanted to leave the Avengers Tower—or leave him—
He didn’t know what he’d do. He didn’t let himself think that far ahead.
When he returned to their shared space that evening, Bucky was sitting on the couch. A faint bruise bloomed on Bucky’s cheek, and his lip was split, dried blood cracking at the corner of his mouth.
“What happened?” he asked as he stepped closer.
Bucky barely glanced up. “Nothing,” Bucky muttered, his voice flat. “It’s not important.”
He frowned. “Did someone hurt you?”
Bucky hesitated, his eyes darting away. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Who did this?” his concern edging into anger. If someone hurt Bucky, if anyone…
“It’s fine, Steve,” Bucky said quickly, his tone placating. “Just… Stark.”
He froze. “Tony did this?”
Bucky’s hands tightened on the couch cushion, but his voice remained calm. “I had it coming. I said something I shouldn’t have, and he… reacted. That’s all.”
His mind raced. This didn’t sound like Tony, not even when things were at their worst.
Bucky didn’t bring it up again, but Steve started noticing the shifts. Every now and then he caught Bucky flinching when Tony walked by. He sidestepped Tony in hallways, kept his head down, and left common spaces abruptly if Tony was there. Tony, for his part, barely acknowledged Bucky except for the occasional glare or sarcastic remark.
Steve entered the Avengers' common area the next morning to find Tony at the kitchen counter, tinkering with a gadget while absently sipping coffee.
“Tony,” Steve said, “What happened with Bucky?”
Tony didn’t look up. “Good morning to you too, Cap.”
“The bruise, Tony,” his voice low but tense.
Tony blinked, confused, lowering the gadget in his hands. “Is this your way of saying thank you? I fixed his arm, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“He said you got into a fight.”
Tony froze mid-sip, his eyes narrowing. “What are you talking about?”
“He’s got a bruise on his face. He said you—” Steve hesitated, but the words spilled out. “He said you hit him.”
“He said that?” Tony asked, setting the mug down. “And you just took his word for it?”
“Why would he lie about something like that?”
Tony’s laugh was bitter. “I don’t know, Steve. Maybe because he knows you’ll jump to defend him no matter what.”
He frowned, “You’re saying he made it up?”
“I’m saying,” Tony replied, “that I didn’t touch him. If he’s hurt, it wasn’t me.”
It wasn’t like Bucky to make things up. Could it be a misunderstanding? Could Tony have done something unintentional that Bucky misinterpreted? Bucky’s trauma sometimes confused him. That was his theory then.
One day left until he had to see the therapist. This time it had to hurt for real.
He sat on the edge of the bed. He’d done this before at Hydra. It had worked then, and it would work now.
I got fined and suspended a solid month, you piece of shit….
Steve returned to their apartment that evening to find him sitting on the floor, shirtless, hunched over, covered in fresh bruises. There was a fresh cut on his cheek. He was pale, his breaths shallow.
It would be a shame if something were to happen to that pretty face of yours...
“Bucky!” Steve was at his side in an instant, his hand hovering over his shoulder but not quite touching. “What happened?”
He flinched slightly, his gaze darting toward the door as though expecting someone to walk in. “It’s nothing,” he muttered. “Just training.”
“Those aren’t training bruises.”
He said softly, “I told him to stop.”
“Who?” Steve asked and paused. “…Tony?”
He hesitated just long enough to make the silence linger. “Tony was just…upset. I shouldn’t have been in his way.”
Steve’s hand instinctively reached out, but then Steve noticed something on his back and Steve froze.
He sensed it and oh. He just realized this was the first time Steve saw his tattoo.
“It’s not like it matters. It’s just ink, right?”
Steve swallowed hard, forcing himself to focus. “Bucky,” he said softly. “What happened?”
He made his voice trembling. “He saw it too. Said something… said if he built me, he’d at least make me better. Said maybe I’d be a lot more fun to be around.”
“Stay here,” Steve said and he didn’t stop Steve this time.
He staggered to his feet a few minutes after Steve stormed out. He steadied himself against the wall, his ribs aching, but a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
Bruce, Clint, and Natasha were also there when he found Tony.
“Oh great, here we go again,” Tony sounds annoyed. “What am I guilty of this time?”
His voice was shaking with barely controlled rage. “Did you hurt Bucky?”
Tony sounds amused, “I’ve avoided him like the plague because I don’t trust him, and now he’s playing you like a damn fiddle.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I expect you to use your head, Rogers!” Tony turned to fully face him, "You’re accusing me because the guy with the tragic backstory pointed a finger? Real detective work there, Cap."
“He’s covered in bruises, Tony!” Steve’s voice cracked slightly. “He’s scared of you! He said you came at him. He won’t even fight back now unless I tell him to! And let’s not pretend we don’t know how you feel about him.”
It didn’t land the way he wanted it to, and Tony’s face darkened, his frustration finally boiling over.
“Yeah, I don’t like him. But if I wanted to hurt him, you’d know, Rogers. Trust me, I wouldn’t half-ass it.”
He took a step forward, “Then how do you explain his injuries?”
Tony’s irritation flaring into genuine anger. “Explain? Sure. He’s self-destructive. The guy cut off his own arm—does that ring a bell to you? Anyone?”
He heard Natasha’s soft intake of breath but no words, just her quiet presence observing. Bruce glanced up from his place by the kitchen counter, looking uncomfortable.
“What, you’re on his side too, Clint?” Tony barked.
Clint raised his hands in mock surrender, “I’m not taking anyone’s side here.” He avoided Tony’s gaze and took a deliberate step back.
“Oh, great. One dinner with the guy, and suddenly you’re all in the Winter Soldier fan club. Let’s just ignore the fact that he spent decades working for Hydra. Totally normal resume”
“Don’t say that about him, Tony,” Steve’s tone sharpened. “He didn’t choose any of that.”
“Didn’t choose it?” Tony shot back, eyebrows raised, “You sure? Because that shiny red star wasn’t exactly handed out with free t-shirts. Growing up, what was the one country everyone told you not to trust, huh?”
He forced himself to steady his voice. “That wasn’t his choice, Tony, he’s an American soldier and a prisoner of war.”
“Right,” Tony said, dragging the word out, “And we’re supposed to believe the guy who spent decades as Hydra’s deadliest asset has zero responsibility? Because that’s easier for you?”
“He’s a victim, Tony!” Steve’s voice cannot hide his anger now, “They tortured him! They brainwashed him!”
“You keep saying that like it magically erases everything he did. Everyone’s got a sob story, Steve. Doesn’t mean you get a free pass to murder people.”
“You don’t judge people for things he couldn’t control. Tony, that wasn’t him.”
“If he could recognize you before pulling the trigger, why couldn’t he stop for someone else?”
“He knew me! How could you blame him for it? Hydra was responsible!”
“Or was it just easier to let Hydra do the thinking for him? You know who else blamed their orders, Steve? Nazis.”
“That’s not fair, Tony” his voice shaking now.
“What’s not fair is putting blind trust in him!”
“He’s my friend!”
“He’s playing you!”
The argument escalated, voices overlapping, his heart pounded, until Natasha finally stepped in between them and guiding Steve out of the room.
She placed a firm hand on Steve’s shoulder, “Steve, that’s enough. Come on.”
“Open your eyes, Rogers!” Tony said, his voice low and furious, “And when you figure that out, don’t bother coming to me.”
His head spun as Natasha’s words echoed in his mind after he left the room.
“I’m saying Stark’s not the one hurting him,” Natasha said bluntly. “And I think you know it.”
Her words pressed down on his chest, suffocating. He shook his head slowly, his voice barely audible. “He has a tattoo, Nat…”
Natasha’s expression softened, there was sadness in her eyes.
Steve swallowed hard, unable to meet her gaze. “It’s on his back, it says…” he said, his voice trembling. “It says… whore.”
The word came out cracked. He stared at the ground, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. They did that to Bucky. Hydra. He could hear Rumlow’s laughter in his head, mocking him, taunting him.
Steve’s breath hitched, and he wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. Natasha stepped closer and placed a hand on his shoulder, her expression gentle. When he broke down, his sobs muffled against her shoulder, she pulled him into an embrace.
Steve finds Bucky sitting at the kitchen table when he goes back, casually flipping through an old magazine. The faint glow of the overhead light casts shadows across his face, but Bucky doesn't look up when he enters the room.
“Tell me the truth,” he says finally, his voice quiet.
Bucky turns his head slightly, glancing at Steve from the corner of his eye. He tilts his head with a faint smirk at his lips. “What truth, Steve?”
The casualness of his tone makes him want to cry. “Did Tony hurt you?”
When he finally asks the question, he swallows hard, “Did anyone?”
Bucky sets the magazine down, leaning back in his chair. His gaze meets Steve’s. For a moment, he says nothing.
Then, with unnerving calm, Bucky answers, “No.”
The admission shatters something in him.
He closes his eyes, takes a step back, his chest heaving. “Why…” he whispers, his voice breaking. “Why would you lie?”
Bucky’s gaze doesn't waver. He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, his voice calm and deliberate. “Because I could.”
His knees feels weak, and he grabs the back of a chair for support.
Bucky’s tone is cold. his expression doesn't change.
“Because you let me.”
He feels the ground beneath him crumble. The only sound in the room is the soft creak of the chair as Bucky stands up and walks away.